


Bullet

by Sorceressam



Series: Klance one-shots [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mentioned Hunk (Voltron), Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, bc I couldn't do that, but he's definitely bi, cause that's thrown around, do people need warning for the f bomb?, enjoy ig??, even tho his bisexuality is never mentioned, im still getting used to hashtags on insta so, mentioned alcohol use, much shouldn't be expected of me, no one actually dies tho, yeah idk wtf tags are really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorceressam/pseuds/Sorceressam
Summary: Living is a struggle for Keith, and it gets to the point where even the thought of finding his soulmate just isn't enough to keep him from taking that final step out into nothing.Lance isn't about to let his soulmate off themselves though, and he finds himself going out of his way to find and save every suicidal person he can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfic before but I'm fucking sad & scared abt S8 coming out in like 5 days so here

Keith hadn’t planned this, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t put some thought into it. A December snowstorm was brewing, and the residents of Bumfuck-Nowhere Wyoming were advised to stay indoors: because the roads were slick with ice, and it was 37 degrees out, and the sun had set hours ago, leaving only the burnt out streetlights to illuminate the night, and it was three in the morning. So Keith figured it was cold enough that the wind would keep everyone inside, and dark enough that no one would see him standing on the edge of the bridge, and late enough that even the drunk college kids from the campus three blocks over would be bundled up safe and warm in their twin-sized beds.

He held himself steady between two thin metal poles, knuckles whitening with the strain to keep himself from stumbling, the strong winter wind sharp and searing, and tearing through the thin jacket that hung around him, turning Keith’s pale skin a soft, blistering pink. His coat sleeves billowed in the harsh breeze, exposing the first words his soulmate would supposedly say to him - would’ve said to him - if they’d ever met. A rough laugh tore its way through his dry throat at the sight of the thin words scrawled across his wrist in a hasty font. He’d held out so long waiting for his soulmate to turn up and utter the words: “What the fuck are you doing?” to him. He’d never hear them now. Keith shook his head, eyes falling away from his damaged wrist to look down at the frigid water below. There was no point in thinking about things that wouldn’t happen.

The bridge was old, the rods that criss-crossed around it on all sides were rusted orange and peeling, flakes of metal chipping off in his hands and sticking to his sweaty palms. Keith lowered himself to sit on the bridge slowly, the wind was severe, pushing against him despite his resistance. He scooted himself forwards, hands burning against the icy wood paneling of the bridge, until his legs hung over the edge. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, whether from the winds or the knowledge of what he was about to do he wasn’t sure, nor was he willing to dedicate the time to figure it out; overthinking things is what led him here in the first place. The drop wasn’t far, but between the grating winds and close to freezing waters he’d die anyways, and that’s all that really mattered.

He ducked his head, hands flying up to grab purchase on one of the support beams before he pulled himself through the small gap to sit securely on the other side of the bridges weak defenses. He’d been in foster homes since he was six, bouncing from house to house for over a decade, none of the roofs he’d stayed under ever feeling like a home. His emotional outbursts, coupled with his history of lying and stealing, gave him the flattering title of ‘discipline case’, a turnoff for most loving foster parents. Death just seemed like his best, most appealing option at this point. Only the unhealthiest of group homes willing to take him in, and promising to ‘straighten him out.’

December 11th: the day Keith’s dad died in a raging house fire, claiming the title of ‘Hero’. The day his mother had left because she “Couldn’t do this without him.” The day Keith’s life fell apart and fractured like glass, each shard holding a piece of what he’d come to know as normal sent scattering to the wind; and Keith was left alone, struggling to pick up all the pieces and put them back together with nothing but his bloody hands and teary eyes to glue them back in place. The day he’d commit suicide, because why ruin another day of the year when this one was already so terrible?

Keith stood slowly, legs trembling beneath him, knees knocking together. He swore under his breath, turning his face up towards the star speckled sky, taking in the silent night, a soft sheet of peaceful tranquility falling over his shoulders, warming him despite the cold air. He must’ve stared for a while, mind wandering to what would happen after… when would the group home notice he was gone? And would they bother looking for him after they read the note he left? Who would find him, and how long would it be before they did? Would he even still look like himself, or would the freezing water and time distort his features?

His breath was visible, a soft white fog against the darkness, and Keith let one of his hands fall from the pole, fingers stiff and frozen at his side. He looked down at the water, it’s still surface shining lightly, no doubt covered with a thin layer of ice by now, it was certainly cool enough. He lifted his right foot, letting it hover before taking a step out towards nothing. Keith’s eyes fell closed, his other hand uncurling from around the metal beam behind him, tilting all his weight forward, feeling the precipice inside him more than seeing it. The coiling, writhing feeling that urged him to just fall into the emptiness beyond, to close his eyes and, for once, not be afraid of what he would open them to.

Though the fall he was so eager for never came, instead he found himself careening backwards, head slamming against the metal bars of the bridge, wrenching a gasp from his throat, eyes flying open. His arms windmilled to find something to grab hold of, stiff, frozen fingers gripping tightly to the rusted steel behind him, and an accusatory voice in his ear saying “What the fuck are you doing?”

Never mind the fact that he’d been aching to hear those words for years, for the person who said them to be his saving grace. “I’m trying to kill myself, what does it look like I’m doing?” Keith spat, because he’d been so close to finally being free that his soulmate didn’t matter anymore. He felt the hand that was curled around his jackets hood tense up when the words passed his chapped lips, the silence that followed was heady and palpable, the hand never loosening and Keith making no moves to turn around.

“Just get down…please.” And Keith could hear the strain in his voice, feel his warm breath against his ear, smell the booze that coated his words, he could taste the chilly night air and see nothing past the dark expanse of sky, and he was _alive_.

Keith nodded numbly, a shaky sigh hitting the back of his neck in response. “You have to let go of me first.” He instructed dryly, his voice sounding foreign and hoarse to his own ears. _When was the last time he’d spoken?_ He hoped the boy behind him couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, why? So you can jump?” The boy’s hand tightened around Keith’s hood, his voice taking up a defensive tone. “I don’t think so.”

“No, so I can turn around.” Keith answered, gaze falling down to his booted feet.

The boy exhaled sharply, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “I swear to god if you jum-“

“I’m not going to jump.” He snapped, waiting silently for the fingers around his hood to loosen and fall away before carefully maneuvering himself to face the bridge and the boy on it. The minute it took for Keith to strategically turn himself on the small ledge lasted a millennia, each inch he moved met with a ‘careful’ or ‘don’t fall’ from the boy on the other side of the metal bars until he’d made it safely around.

It was dark out, most of the lights that adorned the old bridge had flickered out long ago, no one willing to take the time to replace them anymore. Though the darkness didn’t obscure the boy in front of him nearly as much as it should have. His eyes were a luminous blue, blown wide with fear and hope, and searching just as much as Keith’s own. His tanned skin dusted with freckles, light enough that Keith had to lean his forehead against the pole to see them. His lips were thin and parted, his chin sharp, and cheekbones high. His nose curved up a little too high, his brown hair messy and wind-whipped and still blowing, and Keith couldn’t find a single imperfection.

The quiet that fell around them was fragile, and welcome compared to the silence from before, a silence he hadn’t even realized had been suffocating until he’d compared it to this. “Come over here, please.” The boy whispered, his hands hesitating in the air, fingers twitching faintly, before settling atop Keith’s lightly.

His breath hitched, the gentle touch foreign to him, his lips twitching up into a hesitant smile. “Tell me your name first.”

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to be negotiating.” He quipped back, frozen fingers slowly beginning to draw circles into the back of Keith’s hand.

He frowned, watching the soothing motions. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” Keith prompted, eyes flitting up to meet his soulmates.

The brunette smiled easily, worry-lines easing for the first time. “Now how am I supposed to turn down an offer like that?” And Keith shrugged, “It’s Lance.”

 _Lance._ It suited him, like how the sunset suited the beach, and the name Oreo suited black and white cats.

“Keith,” he breathed, Lance’s eyes shining at the name.

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, Keith.” Lance murmured, voice wavering. “So please come over here before I cry.”

Keith nodded, icy fingers tightening around the pole as he lowered himself to the floor, scooting his legs through the small opening first before ducking his head to pull his top half through. Not that he had a chance, because the second his head was out of the way Lance was pulling Keith through the gap in the bridge by his ankles. A watery smile split Lance’s lips, folding himself over and around his soulmate, determined to cover and cradle every part of Keith he could wrap his long arms around. His fingers dug into Keith’s back, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care if he left bruises.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me.” Lance confessed, voice muffled against where he’d buried his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, and he nodded mutely in response, hands tentatively coming up to wrap around Lance’s shoulders. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again.” His grip around Keith tightened, as if he were afraid he’d vanish like smoke, crumble to ash if Lance ever let him go. Maybe he would.

Lance felt like layers of warm blankets wrapped around his shoulders, smelled like a dying fire and booze and lavender, he looked like heaven, and sounded like the ocean, his voice soft and tranquil one second and cracking and wavering like crashing waves the next. Lance was safe. Lance was a new beginning, a second chance, a promise and a guarantee of a future; of a home.

“I won't.” Keith said quietly, tucking his head into Lance’s shoulder, and for once, he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this was good???? bc I wrote most of it @ like 4am, but honestly,, I doubt anyone will read this anyways so ig it doesn't really matter. comments are appreciated tho cause im anxious abt everything and constantly need reassurance, thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was right to be afraid, s8 hurted me bad  
> and if u care the title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lP077RitNAc)

The first words Lance’s soulmate would speak to him were engraved on the inside of his wrist as much as they were in his heart. It’s nice, in theory, but sometimes he wishes he could carve the permanent imprint of the words from his skin, forget the black lettering that gave him nightmares, let the one lead he had to his soulmate break and fracture and _leave him alone_. His parents tried to protect him from his bleak future, wrapping leather bracelets around his left wrist to hide his soulmates cruel fate from him as much as it was to hide it from his peers; but as Lance got older the black words that decorated the inside of his wrist took on a deeper, darker meaning than just: “The first words your soulmate will ever say to you.” because “I’m trying to kill myself, what does it look like I’m doing?” Aren’t soothing, and it wasn’t the same sweet, innocent tattoo everyone else’s skin donned.

Liquor went down easier the later it got, his glasses were set down empty, cleaned, and replaced before he could open his mouth to ask for another. A thin layer of alcohol coated the bottom of the mug, the drink flat and forgotten in his hand. Lance’s life had become a race against time, against death, against who would get to his soulmate first, who would get to keep them; and the knowledge burned with a hurt and hatred he’d never felt before, so he drank to forget it. He didn’t know if he was angry with his soulmate for saddling him with their unapologetic words, or if he was angry at the Universe for treating his soulmate so horribly they turned to suicide to save them. What he did know, however, was that the words plagued him with an unfathomable amount of anxiety, discomfort, and worry over his soulmate, and every day Lance didn’t meet them was just another day that they had to suffer alone, and it made him feel as though he’d somehow failed them. 

Minutes passed with a slowness akin to walking through wet concrete with weights strapped to his ankles, because any second could be his soulmates last, and he’d never know. His heart hurt, and he was never able to tell if it was a phantom pain or some deeper, stronger connection he had to his soulmate. Lance hoped it wasn’t the latter, but the deep seated ache and yearning he felt day after day never felt like it truly belonged to him; and try as he might to rid himself of the torment, it was as if the hurt had made a home inside his chest and it intended to stay. Colored lights danced across the inside of the club, the voices and music intermingling in a song of endless static to his ears. Lance’s tolerance was high, years of using the substance to quell the anxious dance of his stomach coiling and uncoiling and recoiling around the thought of losing his soulmate before he could meet them.

Lance was warm despite the AC blowing cool air across the back of his neck, it might’ve been his drink or the mass of bodies that swarmed the bar at the end of each pop remix that played of the DJ’s stereos, or it might’ve been a combination of the two. Lance swirled the tap beer around in his mug, letting his mind stray from the rivulets the amber liquid made inside his glass. He hadn’t checked the obituaries today — it was a habit he’d picked up in middle school — he’d scroll through the names and pictures, hoping the small blurbs would tell him whoever had died that they weren’t _his_ , that they would grant him one more day to save them from themselves. Realistically he knew it wasn’t healthy, but it was the only way he knew how to check on his soulmate, how to make sure he still had more time.

It was early morning when the muddled colors of the clubs TV’s lit up with the weather warning, the late-night reporter recommending everyone stay indoors and prepare for a snowstorm to hit them come tomorrow afternoon. Lance groaned, tipping his head back, vision swimming with the gesture. Another life-threatening situation for his soulmate to take advantage of was the last thing he needed, especially with the stress of college midterms creeping up on him. He knocked back the last of his drink, the stale, bitter liquid burning his throat on the way down; he’d never cared for the taste of the drinks he indulged himself in, but the buzz dulled the anxiety that ate away at his insides and that made it seem bearable. His credit card slid easily across the counter to the board looking girl manning bar, and Lance vaguely recalled her flirting with him when he’d first started showing up after his twenty-first birthday; but an exasperated look and the brandishing of his wrist had her pushing a shot across the shiny wood of the bar with a ‘on the house’ falling from her lips. 

The cold outside the club was close to unbearable, and after three years he still hadn’t conditioned his body enough to accept the change from his typically sunny winters back home to the blistering cold that plagued Wyoming’s later months. The wind was harsh and grating, nipping his nose pink and numbing his fingers. Hunk was sure to have his ass for coming back to the dorm tipsy and wind-whipped, with a snowstorm on his heels. Somewhere behind the hazy fog that clouded his mind, Lance knew it was wrong to give his best friend reason to worry about him; that he was lucky to have such a caring friend who never belittled him or made him feel less than no matter how many times he fucked up, but just then, Lance couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Campus was half a mile away, and Lance didn’t waste any time in setting a brisk pace to out-walk the searing cold. His first car was a beat up blue corolla that he inherited from his grandfather when he got his license during his junior year of high school, she was still loyally waiting for him in the student parking lot outside his dorm. He didn’t drive her as often as he had in high school, and even then it was only to go looking for the speaker of the words that marked his wrist like a brand. His older brother Marco would take him driving in search of his soulmate when the pain was bad enough that it clenched around his heart and stole the air from his lungs. No one said anything when they came back hours later, tears dry on Lance’s cheeks, eyes puffy, red-rimmed and glossy. The car keys that sat in the small box he unwrapped on his sixteenth birthday brought forth a whole world of new possibilities, and more often than not, Blue and Lance would spend their free time driving over all the bridges in a forty mile radius, creep through old, run-down neighborhoods at a pace that would make grandmothers honk their horns, in an attempt to find his soulmate. He never did.

The bridge Lance had to cross to get back to campus was iced over, and the rusted bars that blocked the sides did nothing to dampen the sharp winds. He’d walked this particular bridge more times than he could count in the three years he’d been in Wyoming, and even though he’d always kept an eye out for anyone teetering on the edge, their face masked in resignation, foot lifted — it was still a shock when he saw the personification of his nightmares. Ice tore through the fog in his mind, froze past drinks from moving any further in his veins, sobered him up enough to feel the burn of the crisp air pushing in and out of his lungs at an illegal pace. Fear spurred him on, heart thundering and chest heaving by the time he’d skidded to a stop behind the boy. Fitting his hand through a gap in the bars was easy, grabbing hold of his hood was a given, jerking his arm back to bring the boy back to standing on two feet was a reflex, the accusatory “what the fuck are you doing?” However, came out of its own volition.

Lance liked to think that he would’ve tried to save anyone, regardless of if he thought they might be his soulmate, but the scratchy, venom laced words: “I’m trying to kill myself, what does it look like I’m doing?” Made his hand tighten around the hood until his knuckles whitened and strained against his skin. The silence that followed was broken only by the wind in Lance’s ears the the timid feeling of relief washing over him. “Just get down…please.” And Lance wondered if the way his voice trembled and cracked was audible over the impending storm. 

He released a trembling sigh when the other boy nodded, because he was so close, his soulmate was here. Safe. Still standing on the edge of a bridge. “You have to let go of me first.” His voice sounded rough, and Lance hoped it was because he was trying to talk over the wind, and not some other, deeper reason.

“Yeah, why?” He shot back, fingers curling around the fabric of the hood. “So you can jump? I don’t think so.”

“No, so I can turn around.”

It infuriated Lance that it was a valid argument, because he really wasn’t feeling up to the whole ‘letting go of his soulmate’ thing, not when he’d _just_ gotten them. “I swear to god if you jum-“

“I’m not going to jump.” The boy snapped back, and Lance would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised by the fire that burned under his words. So he let go, but that didn’t stop the quiet ‘careful’’s and ‘don’t fall’’s that fell from his chapped lips.

The lighting was dark and strange — the old, dusty, moth covered lights from the bridge battling against the soft white light of the moon that hung in the air behind his soulmate. But in any light, Lance didn’t think it would be hard to see that he was all high cheekbones and sharp edges. His hair was almost as black as the sky behind him, framing a pale face and vibrant dark eyes. A long scar decorated the side of his face, but it didn’t distract from his button nose, or his lips that were just as chapped as Lance’s, or that his hair looked _good_ blowing in the brutal wind. Lance didn’t think even in his best dreams, that his soulmate would look this ethereal.

It hurt him to break the silence that had settled around them, the quiet comfort of just existing in each others presence after so long. “Come over here, please.” He asked tentatively, hand hesitating in the air before settling atop the others. 

The boy’s lips curved up slowly at the corners, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Tell me your name first.”

“I don’t really think you’re in a position to be negotiating.” Lance answered back easily, his thumb working circles into the back of his soulmates hand in attempt to ease his hesitant smile into something more genuine.

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” He prompted, their eyes catching, and how could Lance deny him when he looked at him with a vulnerability so blatant, it might as well have been palpable.

“Now how am I supposed to turn down an offer like that?” He asked, a smile splitting his lips. “It’s Lance.”

“Keith.” 

_Keith._ Was it normal for him to feel like all the air had been stolen from his lungs at the drop of a name? 

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, Keith.” He breathed, and he could feel his voice threatening to break again. “So please come over here before I cry.”

Lance took a hesitant step back when Keith nodded, lowering himself to the floor to fit back through the gap in the railing of the bridge; and Lance was there waiting, tugging Keith through by his ankles and wrapping him up in his arms. He could feel his is fingers digging divots into Keith’s skin, but unwilling to let up even a little on the tight embrace. 

“You scared the absolute shit out of me.” Lance mumbled against Keith’s neck, and he felt more than saw the nod Keith answered with, his arms shaking when they came up to return Lance’s hold. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again.”

“I won’t” Keith promised, tucking his cold nose into the column of Lance’s neck, and it was freeing, to know that his soulmate — that _Keith_ — was finally safe in his arms. Freeing to know that he wouldn’t have to face whatever had driven him to the edge of that bridge alone anymore. Freeing to believe so completely in someone else’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance for the inaccuracies, i know that people don't generally write obituaries for suicide victims, but i wasn't sure how else to write Lance looking for Keith without physically doing so. Any advice of how to go about that better/differently would be appreciated. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if this was good???? bc I wrote most of it @ like 4am, but honestly,, I doubt anyone will read this anyways so ig it doesn't really matter. comments are appreciated tho cause im anxious abt everything and constantly need reassurance, thanks :)


End file.
